


stay in touch

by Kaitein



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, headcanons are my everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaitein/pseuds/Kaitein
Summary: Having two arms doesn't mean that you should do everything by yourself.Being one of the arms... doesn't mean it either.





	stay in touch

**Author's Note:**

> A small prompt, based on the fuckinlovekidge's headcanon on tumblr: "Since pidge’s hair stays practically the same length during the show, Im guessing she trims it every now and then. And since keith spent a year ish in the desert alone Im guessing he has some experience cutting hair (just a shit ton of trial and error) So what I’m trying to say is that keith cuts pidges hair. Or at least he showed/helped helped her how to"
> 
> Link to the tumblr original headcanon post: https://fuckinlovekidge.tumblr.com/post/177677553853/headcanon  
> The title is an homage to Interpol's song.
> 
> I apologize for the possible mistakes, because english isn't my native language.

She came to him exactly at eleven o'clock on the third day of every month. She knocked several times with a special knock-out: their love of solitude with clenched teeth rubbed together with their sharp ends and crumbled to the floor with fine dust. Muffled scratches of rough surfaces didn’t stop for a long time, drowned in arguments, but the storms passed in the very end. The raging waves of anger and desire to just throw out everything that was accumulating inside for a long time and bursting out, disappeared without a trace. The edges of the stones, cutting to the meat, eventually took on a perfect shape in short thuds.

That day Keith decided not to push himself on the training ground as usual and now was laying and just staring at the ceiling. Muscles, seemed to be filled with lead after the yesterday's training, were buzzing and doing exactly what the whole evening were tormented for: they distracted him from unnecessary thoughts that constantly crept into Keith’s head. The calm before the storm never allowed him to sleep peacefully: someone considered a loss of a sword hanging over their head as a respite, but someone on the contrary secretly wished for its return.

'The enemy is always easier to watch when he is in sight'. This was the second thing that Keith took from the sand of an empty  burning hot  desert into the empty ice-cold outer space.

A light thud was hanging in the air like a guiding Ariadne’s thread, then came a pause, and two more of them. Keith gratefully grabbed the thrown ball and began to unwind it, rose from the bed, diligently ignoring the pain, which was tearing the right hip apart. The gladiator's blow on that difficulty wasn’t weak, judging by the purplish ascending bruise the size of one and a half palm.

The opposite end of the thread on the other side of the door was in Pidge’s palm. Keith might not even have a look at the clock: Gunderson was accurate, as a premonition of early troubles and unpleasantness.

Probably, Pidge was the only pleasantness that he (with impatience) was waiting for then.

Without further ado, he let her into the room and immediately closed the door. In fact, they both didn’t care what the people around could have thought, looking at the late visit of a girl wrapped in a blanket to a guy with the presence of scissors (a suspicious third wheel) but a private agreement between them only supported the shaky illusion of serenity in the team.

She immediately went to his bed, sat on the edge, facing the wall, her back to him.

“Are you as usual? Buzz cut, half crown? Canadian style, I mean, marine?” - she came to him for the fifth time, and probably soon the stock of the men's haircuts he knew would come to an end.

Pidge was wriggling on the spot and with a barely perceptible note of sad joy said "Italian," and handed him an elaborate form of long scissors. The rings looked like huge eye sockets, and the blades were on the outwardly like jaws of megalodon shark. Long walks in the mall somehow were crowned with success in the form of this monstrous offspring of someone's fantasy with several tens of grams of metal, and in response to the nagging question "the hell you’ve bought this” she merely shrugged her shoulders and replied that any enemy would escape when they saw this crap. "Let's put them on the nose of the Castle of Lions, as the sailors did with figureheads," but alas, the initiative didn’t pass.

'And that's a pity,' with some kind of sadness Keith thought and hung for a few seconds, looking at the honey-colored top of her head, fragrant with something fresh and citrus. The smell tickled his nostrils (she must have just washed her head) and a little wet locks gently chilled his permanently hot fingers.

“What’s taking so long?" She grumbled. “You can cut it without any thought. All the same hair curliness will hide everything.”

"You could cut your hair by yourself in this case," he answered and felt a strong kick of his inner voice. _Be quiet better, man._

"I have no eyes on the back of my head, Kogane. And your chic mullet only confirms that a great barber died in you.”

"And why did I tell you about my experiments?" It seemed to be heard how he rolled his eyes.

“Uh, I wish I would look at you with short hair. Although... no, I wouldn’t even recognize you in that case.” Pidge laughed and shook her head, as if inviting finally to action.

_'And I wish I would look at you with long hair.'_ The formed thought on the tongue turned into something completely different. 

"So Italian, if you want.” Just in case, he gently swung his knuckles over her head, as if confirming her anatomical correctness, and, pulling a strand of hair, ruthlessly clicked with scissors.

This initiated ritual was held in silence, interrupted only by a ringing clang and a weightless drop of сut curls on a pre-laid blanket. This side of Keith, neatness and accuracy, lightly polished Pidge’s stubborness… well, at least in his room.

Her hair was slowly melting, and after a few movements, a new haircut began to play the furious squash just below the earlobes. Not the dull one, as when he accidentally walked into her Lion’s hangar and saw her in front of a small mirror, a massive strand of hair in one hand and those horrifying scissors, which could give anyone a sleepless night, in the other. For one moment a picture of how he tried to cut himself a little appeared before his eyes. Then the bangs fell pathetically into the sink with a black scrap, and then the neck started its constant whining that it was cold when the back of the head felt like a hedgehog.

'Always rely only on yourself'. That was the very first statement Keith got through the skull and knotted for memory, standing by the cold stone, bathed in the light of the passing sun. His Father's calm glance at the grey gravestone faded with every minute, until it completely went into darkness, just as Mom left once. "Now you're completely grown-up," the cool breeze shook the skin unabashedly the next day after the funeral, "all alone."

And then the hair grew back and everything became somehow familiar.

As long as Pidge didn’t appear, and before she handed him the scissors in the same hangar, she clicked them. But even though she cut all the knots well, Keith wouldn’t, by her example, give up his hair to her for now.

He didn’t know if it would be cold again.


End file.
